[ 660 ] 



CUVIER AND HIS CABINET. 



DID you ever visit the Museum of Natural History in the Jar din des 

 Plantes ? Did you ever see collection so complete ? And this not only 

 in snakes and crocodiles, the monsters of the forest and the deep, and all 

 the stuffed prodigies of the bestial world, for what to me appeared far 

 more curious, were the specimens of animated nature of man. Methinks 

 we do not care enough to preserve the varieties of that species, so full of 

 physical variety. Painters, indeed, do much in this respect, and might do 

 more: it is their office. But the rogues alter truth; they must either 

 idolize or caricature. Their sketches do not give the real thing. 



For instance, of what interest and importance is it to behold, or be 

 acquainted with the French, such as they were in the last century, under 

 the different forms of powdered Marquis and cropped revolutionarian. 

 Can a picture give you an idea of either ? Certainly not. Nor can Paris 

 itself, if you frequent its common or its modish haunts. But hie east- 

 ward, to the Faubourg St. Antoine ; go to bask in the afternoon sun that 

 warms the alleys of the Jardin des Plantes, and you will behold all these 

 antique specimens of the insect, man. They seem really as if they had 

 just emerged from the cabinet of a natural philosopher. Nowhere are to 

 be seen so many varieties of age in man, from the somewhat wealthy pig- 

 tailed noble in his buckles and douillette, to the humble but haler veteran 

 in drab, so lavish in the use of his only luxury, snuff. 



Nor are the younger specimens of the French species less interesting ; 

 the self-complacent expression of the Parisian's countenance, proud of 

 his garden and its wonders, contrasted with the astounded and admiring 

 look of the provincial, who is stultified with wonder. Then the glee of 

 the children, and the attention paid to them one of the most amiable 

 and universal traits of the French character being fondness for infancy 

 the peculiar neatness and chatter of the bonnes, the good, the almost gen- 

 teel behaviour of all, supply one with many pleasing reflections. 



There cannot, in short, be a more charming avenue to the temple of 

 science. But the guide-book, or his passport, will have introduced the 

 stranger here already. My purpose is to introduce him to the high priest 

 of the temple, the great Cuvier. And here let not squeamishness be 

 shocked. I am not about to penetrate his salon, nor reveal, after the 

 favour of an invitation, the mysteries of his soirees. I respect civilized 

 life and its rules too much to commit such a decided misdemeanour. But 

 I may be allowed, methinks, to describe the person of the great naturalist, 

 when his public lectures might have procured me the facilities, or to pene- 

 trate, as any student may do, into the cabinet which he occupies as pro- 

 fessor. 



This is a long room at the top of the building, so chosen to have the 

 light from above. It is fitted up precisely like a tent, which gives a pleas- 

 ing effect to a ceiling that naturally follows the obliquity of the roof in 

 which it is. This might furnish an idea to luxury in a garret. But here 

 is no luxury except that of effected rudeness : every thing is of the plainest 

 kind, just what befits science. No rose-wood or buhl, not even maho- 

 gany. A pupitre', or desk, of deal painted black, high enough to keep 

 the student half sitting half standing, occupies the space beneath one 

 of the skylights. From over this appears a large pale immensity of face, 



